What more can be said about a subject so near and dear to so many branded as villains, hippies, low class, snobbish junkies?
Getting high, wired, speedy, connected, sorted, snarfed, I can call it whatever i want but i cant come close to expressing what those before me, the Freuds, Hunter S Thomas’, Eltons’ or the Wolfe’s of our time have already so poetically and romantically branded it.
I can only speak from my own experience with what has over the years become a ‘drug of choice’. Yes, it’s a drug, and I take it by choice. Gladly, whenever I can. It’s the promise of oblivion, the sweet almost-there taste of absolution. Salvation, even. Sometimes it leaves you in ecstasy, other times it breaks your heart and leaves you wanting more but knowing full well that more could ultimately result in less.
The wicked lure of its aroma, the bittersweet taste of its core and then the sometimes heavenly abyss – a stumble, tumble and fall that can only be done with a smile – it gives you no choice. The smile, the bliss is mandatory.
It’s most probably the most in-the-moment experience – all consequences, all reasoning falls away and it’s just you and the alluring trail of temporary happiness. To me it’s come in dingy bathrooms, dives, digs, flats, mansions, toilets, cars, floors, and once even on the back of an anonymous lover.
Oh but as much as it’s showed me love, it’s broken my heart, shattered my being and drove me to my knees. It stabbed me in the back. It turned on me and betrayed my love, it used me. And yet I got back. Like a battered wife, an ignorant, juvenile lover, I can’t help but hold it and say “It’s okay. This time it’ll be different.”
Getting high, wired, speedy, connected, sorted, snarfed, I can call it whatever i want but i cant come close to expressing what those before me, the Freuds, Hunter S Thomas’, Eltons’ or the Wolfe’s of our time have already so poetically and romantically branded it.
I can only speak from my own experience with what has over the years become a ‘drug of choice’. Yes, it’s a drug, and I take it by choice. Gladly, whenever I can. It’s the promise of oblivion, the sweet almost-there taste of absolution. Salvation, even. Sometimes it leaves you in ecstasy, other times it breaks your heart and leaves you wanting more but knowing full well that more could ultimately result in less.
The wicked lure of its aroma, the bittersweet taste of its core and then the sometimes heavenly abyss – a stumble, tumble and fall that can only be done with a smile – it gives you no choice. The smile, the bliss is mandatory.
It’s most probably the most in-the-moment experience – all consequences, all reasoning falls away and it’s just you and the alluring trail of temporary happiness. To me it’s come in dingy bathrooms, dives, digs, flats, mansions, toilets, cars, floors, and once even on the back of an anonymous lover.
Oh but as much as it’s showed me love, it’s broken my heart, shattered my being and drove me to my knees. It stabbed me in the back. It turned on me and betrayed my love, it used me. And yet I got back. Like a battered wife, an ignorant, juvenile lover, I can’t help but hold it and say “It’s okay. This time it’ll be different.”